Dog Show Disaster

by Missy Robertson

  “Whatever,” she said. “Where is it?”

  “It’s in a crate, in the back of the SUV.” I walked out to the street where Mom was parked. She looked out the window at me and winked.

  I pulled up the liftgate, and asked Madison to open the crate. The golden retriever puppy whimpered a little, but then charged forward and began licking Madison on the chin.

  Madison scooped the puppy up in her arms and buried her face in its neck.

  “You’re so soft and adorable,” she said, and then she looked at me. “Is it a girl?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  Madison was speechless. She hugged that little thing for a few minutes, and then she sat up on the back of the tailgate. The puppy stayed in her lap.

  “We missed you at the Bark Fest,” I said.

  Madison kept petting the puppy and didn’t look up.

  “I just wasn’t feeling it. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. All the work you did paid off big-time.”

  Madison grinned, sort of. “I heard. Thanks for getting us out of that fundraising jam. That could have been a real mess.”

  “But, hey—it wasn’t, right? I think we all made a really great team.”

  “Yeah.”

  Madison picked the puppy up so she could look closely at her face. “You remind me of my dog, Millie. I got her when she was about your size. I miss her very much.”

  Then she jumped off the tailgate and put the puppy back in the crate. “I think this dog would make a perfect pet for someone.”

  “How about you?”

  Madison’s eyes grew wide. “Me? Is that even an option?”

  I smiled. “Sure. My mom called your dad, and he said he’s all for it. He said since you’re not going to Paris this summer, you’ll have plenty of time to take care of a puppy.”

  Madison stepped back from the crate and put both hands on her cheeks.

  “This is unbelievable! I would LOVE to take this puppy. But, I’d have to find someone to care for her when I’m at camp.”

  I gulped. “You’re going to camp?”

  Madison put her hand on her forehead and shook her head. “Yeah. Daddy signed me up to go to some Christian thing during the last week of June. I’m not too happy about it. But, if I get to keep this little sweetie, I’ll have something to look forward to when I get home.”

  She smiled and reached in for more puppy snuggles.

  “Allie, I can’t believe you brought me a dog. I haven’t exactly been nice to you.”

  I shrugged. “I know. You’ve had a rough year.”

  Madison’s eyes filled up. “It’s been horrible. Sometimes I feel like my heart is breaking apart—just like my family.”

  “I’m really sorry, Madison. And I meant what I said before. I hope we can start over and be friends someday.”

  Madison grinned, for real this time. “I’d like that.”

  Whoa. Miracle!

  I reached out and roughed up the puppy’s neck fur.

  “And I think this little one can help heal your heart. Dogs are pretty amazing.”

  “Yes, they are,” Madison said.

  “Do you want to take these two for a walk next Saturday? I know Hazel Mae would love to run over here in the morning.”

  Madison laughed.

  “I bet she would.”

  “I’m proud of you, Allie,” Mom said on the drive home. “It took strong character to forgive Madison, after all she put you through.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “And the dog idea was brilliant.”

  “That was easy. Mr. Felix had an extra dog, and Madison had a dog-shaped hole in her heart.”

  And God, I’ll leave it up to you to work on that other hole.

  Excerpt from book 4 in the Princess in Camo series

  FINDING CABIN SIX

  CHAPTER ONE

  Necessities

  Duct tape, rope, scissors, hanging vines, monkeys . . .” I scratched my head and scanned the shelves and other flat surfaces in the bedroom I share with my cousin, Kendall.

  “Can you think of anything else we need?”

  Kendall pulled some super glue from her desk drawer and then crammed a purple ukulele into the medium-sized suitcase we had set aside for “camp essentials.”

  “There.” She sat on her bed, scrunched her lips together, and rested her fist on her chin. “What about flower garlands?”

  I pointed to my teeny white poof-ball dog, Hazel Mae. She and Kendall’s black miniature poodle, Ellie, were playing tug-of-war with the garlands.

  “Good luck getting those away from them in one piece.”

  Kendall jumped off her bed and ran toward the dogs.

  “Ellie! Drop!”

  At the sound of Kendall’s command, Ellie and Hazel Mae disappeared out the door with the garlands.

  Kendall threw her hands up in the air. “We need those if we plan on being cabin champs again this year.”

  “I’m sure there are more in the boxes downstairs. I saw some inflatable birds and geckos too.”

  Kendall sat back on the bed and crossed her arms. “There are a million boxes stacked up down there.”

  My family—who had been living with Kendall’s family for a long nine months—was packing to finally move into our newly-built, allergen-free home on a brand-new street in our neighborhood—Timbuktu Court.

  Our move-in date was planned for next Monday—two days after we were scheduled to return from our week at summer camp.

  “Come on.” I grabbed Kendall’s hand to tug her off her bed. “I’ll help you dig through the boxes.”

  But we didn’t move, because Kendall wrapped me up in a tight hug.

  “I don’t want you to move, Allie.”

  I laughed and tried to pry her arms from around me. “Yes, you do. And I’ll only be five minutes away.”

  At the top of the stairs, we ran into my mom, who was carrying an overloaded laundry basket. She pushed us backward into our room and dumped the load of socks and underwear on my bed.

  “I hope you girls intend to pack clothes and toiletries too.” She glanced down at the suitcase with the twenty monkey eyes staring back at her.

  “What in the world do you need those for?”

  “Mom—everyone knows you need monkeys at camp.”

  “We’re creatin’ a rainforest environment,” Kendall said. “We’re goin’ for cabin champs three years in a row, and décor is one of the top things they judge.”

  Mom began sorting socks from the mound. “And what if you girls aren’t in the same cabin this year?”

  I put my hands on my hips.

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  Mom shook her head. “Well, okay. I’m just preparing you for the possibility—I don’t want to hear you griping if you end up separated.”

  “We have to be together. This is our last week as roomies! Plus, we’ve written our cheer and everything.” Kendall grabbed a couple of socks off the bed and swung them around like pom-poms.

  “We’re the best, and we will thrive, ’cause Jesus is alive in Cabin Five!”

  Mom raised her eyebrows. “And how do you know you’ll be in Cabin Five?”

  “We’ve worked our way up,” I said. “We’re the oldest now, so we rule. That’s all.”

  “But there are lots of girls your age, and last time I counted, there were only nine camper beds in Cabin Five. So, clearly someone isn’t going to rule.”

  Kendall plopped the cheer socks back on the bed. “Yeah, too bad for them.”

  Right then my phone rang. The caller ID popped up a name:

  Madison Doonsberry.

  I sighed. “It’s Madison . . . again. She probably needs more packing advice. She’s never been to a summer camp before.”

  “Tell her we could use some more monkeys,” Kendall said.

  Fiery redhead Madison Doonsberry and I got off to a rocky start last November when her family moved into my old house. She seemed to hate me for some reason, so I secretly
referred to her as “Mad-girl,” and tried to avoid her—kind of like how I avoid eating peanuts—to survive. But then, through a painful set of circumstances, God showed me that Madison didn’t need someone to make fun of her or avoid her—she needed someone to care. And after a lot of prayer, I decided to try that—but slowly, and in small doses. Then, Madison found out she and I were both going to be at the same camp the last week in June, and she’d been calling me at least three times a day since Wednesday.

  So much for small doses.

  I poked the “answer” button on my phone and put her on speaker with me and Kendall.

  “Hey, Madison. Are you still packing?”

  A little puppy yelp came from the speaker.

  “Petunia, stop chewing on the curtains!”

  Petunia is Madison’s golden retriever puppy.

  “Allie, how many pairs of shoes should I bring? Petunia’s chewed up most of mine.”

  I laughed. “That’s fine. Chewed-up shoes are the best ones to bring. They’re gonna get wet and dirty anyway.”

  “Petunia!”

  Things went quiet on the other end of the line for a minute. Then Madison returned, out of breath.

  “Wet and dirty? Why?”

  Kendall laughed. “Camp. That’s why.”

  “But it’s a Christian camp, so there’s less dirt, right? Doesn’t everyone just sit around and make sweet crafts and sing hymns?”

  “Ha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, Madison. Hang on a minute, I have to jot that one down in my journal.”

  “Don’t tease me, Allie Carroway—and be truthful. How much dirt are we really talking about here?”

  “Madison—there’s dirt everywhere. In fact, bring dirt-colored clothes. And lots of socks.”

  “How many exactly?”

  “At least three pairs for each day. And two pairs of shoes for the week. One to wear while the other dries out.”

  “Oh, yuck!”

  Silence on the other end again.

  “Madison? Are you still there?”

  “Yes. I’m hugging Petunia and trying not to cry. Allie—I’m not sure I’ll survive this week.”

  “Sure, you will. You’re a bayou girl now, remember?”

  I heard a loud sigh on the other end.

  “Yes, I remember. In fact—it’s my daily nightmare. Allie, will you help me when I’m at camp? I’m nervous. And I don’t understand all that Christian stuff either. The packing list says I’m supposed to bring a Bible, and I don’t even have one. Well, there is one on a stand in our living room. But it’s the size of a small suitcase.”

  “I’ll bring you a Bible.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Madison then began talking to her puppy. “Petunia, I’m going to miss you so much!”

  “Okay, well . . . bye, Madison.”

  I hung up and lay down on my bed. I clasped my hands, raising them toward the ceiling.

  “Kendall, please pray—with all your might—that Madison Doonsberry is not assigned to our cabin.”

  Kendall shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Lately, every time I ask God for somethin’, he says no. I think you should ask instead.”

  “And why shouldn’t Madison be in your cabin?”

  Mom had returned with more laundry and glared in my direction.

  I propped myself up on my elbows. “She’s just not the camper type, Mom. And that means she’ll be clingy and whiny. This is my last year at middle-school camp, and I don’t want to spend it babysitting Madison Doonsberry.”

  “Well, it sounds like you have a little selfish streak going on.” Mom set the laundry basket beside me on the bed and pulled an envelope from the top of the load. “According to this, it may be your last year at camp, period.” She handed it over to me.

  I opened it, and pulled out a letter to my parents from Lindsey Roth, our close family friend, and director of Camp 99 Pines.

  Dear Camp 99 Pines Alumni,

  We are eagerly awaiting your arrival next week to celebrate the Camp 99 Pines’ 50th year anniversary! Enclosed you will find your tickets to the gala—to be held under the stars on everyone’s favorite recreation field two. It’s going to be a fabulous night, with three hundred in attendance!

  Attached you will find a parking map for Friday evening. Also, for those arriving a day early, we are offering lunch and a tour of the camp at noon—when our middle-school students will be in session.

  The next part of the letter made my heart hurt.

  As I wrap up this letter, I am compelled to ask you to pray about the future of Camp 99 Pines. Founder and owner—Audrey Gables—is suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease, and has been admitted to a local care facility. Her son, Patterson Gables, has put the property up for sale, and a housing developer has already offered a sum that is over the asking price—one that we on the camp board cannot match at this time.

  Our camp is booked for the summer, so we will continue to operate, but if nothing changes, our last week as a Christian camp will be the week of August 9th. Until then, we are . . .

  Trusting in the God of all Hope,

  Lindsay Roth

  Director, Camp 99 Pines

  “Till all the lost have been found.”

  “Allie—your face! What’s wrong?” Kendall jumped up off her bed and grabbed the letter out of my hand. “What does it say?”

  “It says that the camp is up for sale,” Mom said.

  “For sale? Why?”

  I pointed to the shocking paragraph.

  “Audrey Gables’ son wants to turn it into a neighborhood, I guess.”

  “A neighborhood? We’ve got plenty of neighborhoods!” Kendall stomped one foot on the floor. “Camp 99 Pines is historic—they can’t sell it!”

  “Can the Carroways buy it?” I turned to my mom. “We’ve got money from doing the show, right?”

  My whole family stars in a reality TV show called Carried Away with the Carroways. It all started when I was about seven, and it focuses on our life in the Louisiana bayou—particularly my dad and uncles and their duck hunting escapades.

  “Do we have enough to buy the camp?” Kendall looked over at Mom, who was now sitting on my bed, matching up pairs of socks.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But owning a camp is a huge undertaking. And something tells me that this situation is a lot more complicated than someone else simply buying the camp.”

  “What’s complicated?” I said. “We buy it, and it stays a Christian camp.”

  Mom took the letter from Kendall and shook her head. “It says right here that Audrey’s son, Patterson, is in charge now, and it appears he has other interests. Maybe he’s not even a believer.”

  “With parents who own a Christian camp? That impossible.”

  “It’s possible in any family, Allie,” Mom said.

  “Well, either way, I think the Carroways should pay a visit to this Patterson Gables person.” I balled up a few socks and threw them in my suitcase.

  Mom’s eyes opened wide. “Allie, I think that’s enough socks.”

  “Yeah, but I could be mucking around in the mud this week, looking for ways to save the camp.”

  Mom pointed her index finger toward my chin.

  “Listen here, girl. You’re going as a camper, not a crusader. Got that? Let the grown-ups figure this out. You just pray.”

  I didn’t change my expression at all.

  “Allie . . .”

  “I’ll pray,” I said.

  “And take good care of Madison. Put yourself in her shoes. How would you like to be treated as if it were your first year at camp?”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” I reached into my top dresser drawer and pulled out more socks. “She’ll need these.”

  A long pause. Then Mom continued.

  “You’ll be out in the bayou with snakes and alligators. No mucking, sneaking, hiking, peeking, or even thinking about lurking around where you don’t belong.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took a
deep breath. . .